by John Migacz
CHAPTER 51
Ta’Lon threw back the flap of his mutaleh, stepped out into the early morning air and stretched his huge frame. The vast encampment already bustled with activity. Smoke from hundreds of fires hung over the camp and mixed with the smell of cooking wartanga.
A red-forehead-stained warrior greeted Ta’Lon in passing. “Wa –ta Ocaow! Wa –ta!”
Ta’Lon nodded and strode toward the main campfire. Muscles bulged on every part of his incredible physique and rippled when he walked. He oozed power with each step, yet as he walked to the campfire his body flowed with the grace of a dancer. Like every other warrior, Ta’Lon wore a loincloth and had his wartanga-greased dark hair pulled back into an ehtatail. But unlike the others, his entire face was stained red, with the exception of a strip across the eyes.
Shouts of “Wa –ta Ocaow” followed as he walked through camp. A Sevoal woman approached him with head bowed and offered a piece of hot wartanga heart on an intricately woven grass mat. Ta’Lon stopped. He grabbed the meat but never took his eyes off the woman. “Raise your head,” he said.
The woman raised her head and Ta’Lon quickly assessed her mutah-draped face. “You will bring wartanga heart to my mutaleh tonight.” She hid a quick smile and bowed her head. Ta’Lon walked past her, taking bites out of the still smoking heart.
“Ocaow!” called a running messenger. “Sistek has arrived!”
Ta’Lon threw the heart behind him and several grots pounced on the meat. He wiped his hand on his muscled thigh.
A dozen warriors galloped into camp with Sistek at the fore. He rode directly toward Ta’Lon, leaping off as he neared.
“Wa –ta Ocaow! Hail the visible hand of Ocaow! Truly Ocaow is with us!”
Ta’Lon stood with thick arms crossed. Sistek was large for a Sevoal but Ta’Lon was easily a half-head taller. Sistek’s superb physique looked puny in comparison to Ta’Lon’s muscled bulk.
“It went well, then?” asked Ta’Lon.
“Just as you said, Ta’Lon. Just as you said!” His eyes shone with a zealot’s bright fire. “Two thousand warriors will be at the Horn River at the second moon.”
Ta’Lon smiled. “You have done well, Sistek. Ocaow cannot help but be pleased.”
Sistek’s smile widened. “How did it go with our southern brothers?” he asked.
“Very well,” answered Ta’Lon, a smirk growing on his face. “When we meet at the Horn River, we will number over fifteen thousand.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Sistek, then his brows furrowed in thought. “Will we have enough rays of the sun for so many?”
“We will, my friend, we will. Ocaow will provide. I go now to check on Nongus’ progress. Escort me.” Ta’Lon signaled and the largest ehta in the herd was brought to him. He mounted with a quick leap and rode east with Sistek. Two dozen of Ta’Lon’s bodyguards rode in their wake.
Their ehtas carried them swiftly through the grassland. After several hours they crested a small rise overlooking a large valley. Along the far side of the valley rose a hundred-foot cliff stretching for miles in either direction. From a quarter mile away, the din of hammer on anvil could be heard. Smoke from burning forges hung low in the sky and filled the valley. The fires reflecting off the smoke gave the valley the appearance of hell and for many there, it was. Ta’Lon smiled and spurred his ehta forward.
Cries of “Wa –ta Ocaow!” greeted Ta’Lon as he rode into camp. A fat, squat Sevoal warrior stepped out from the largest mutaleh and stood waiting with arms crossed. His body was marked with black smudges and, like Sistek, his chin and forehead were ocher stained.
“Wa –ta Ocaow!” said the stubby warrior. He raised his right arm in salute as Ta’Lon and Sistek dismounted.
“Hail Nongus! How goes it?” asked Ta’Lon.
“The forging of axes and arrowheads proceeds. We are making as many a day as you demanded.”
“We will need more. Many warriors are flocking to Ocaow’s call.”
Nongus laughed. “Get me more slaves and I will make as many rays of the sun as you need.”
Ta’Lon nodded and studied the lines of slaves snaking from the iron mines. The bent-back laborers carried their heavy loads in woven grass baskets. They flowed in and out of the dark openings that dotted the cliffs. Nongus worked them day and night, stating it was always dark in the mines anyway.
“Will we have enough wood?” asked Ta’Lon.
“Yes. You supplied us well. The fletchers are finishing the rays of the sun almost before the arrowheads have cooled.”
Ta’Lon smiled. He had chosen this location well. An area where water, iron and coal ore were in close proximity was rare in the grasslands. And timber… Ta’Lon thought it had been a stroke of his genius to fire the western woods. It gave him free access to the remaining forest, providing the lumber needed to shore his mines and build siege engines – and it had rid him of the troublesome Arvari at the same time.
“If you are going to bring more slaves, make some of them women.” Nongus laughed. “They can carry as well as a man, and have other uses as well.”
His leer spoke volumes. Ta’Lon knew that any woman given to him would not live long. “I will bring what Ocaow gives. I am sure he will reward you for all your excellent work.”
“That reminds me,” said Nongus, and gestured to a warrior nearest the mutaleh. “I have a slave who says he can show us how to make better arrowheads, faster.”
Two men were led from the mutaleh. Both were filthy. Their clothing hung in rags on their emaciated bodies. As they approached Ta’Lon, the tallest one smiled, showing his few teeth.
“You claim to be able to help us?” asked Ta’Lon.
“Yes, your Lordship. My name’s Peety, and I know several tricks to make a forge burn hotter. I would show you for some considerations is all.”
“Were you a smith?” asked Ta’Lon.
“No, your lordship, but I worked as an apprentice for one and learned me all I could,” he said. His smile grew bigger.
“What consideration?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Peety, rubbing a hand on his cheek. “More food, or maybe I could be put in charge of the other slaves for you. Maybe get a woman once in a while. I ain’t asking much and I got a lot to offer.”
“This one,” Ta’Lon said, gesturing to the man standing behind Peety. “Is he a smith?”
“No, your Lordship, he’s just my friend, but he could help me with the other slaves.”
Moving in a blur, Ta’Lon grabbed the friend by the back of the neck and forced him to his knees. He gripped the top of the man’s neck with his free hand and effortlessly snapped the friend’s neck. With a violent yank, Ta’Lon severed the head, spraying Peety in a fountain of blood.
It happened so quickly, neither Peety nor his friend had uttered a sound. Peety, trembling like a leaf, fell to his knees. Ta’Lon tossed the head away with no more thought than the breakfast he had tossed to the grots.
“Nongus! See if this one can help make arrowheads faster. If he fails, place him in the forge.” Laughing, Nongus grabbed Peety’s arm and led him away.
Sistek’s eyes were shining. “Ta’Lon! A mighty show of the power of Ocaow! There is no one that can stand in our way!”
Ta’Lon’s eyes narrowed. “There might be one…” He studiously flicked blood from his fingers. “But if he has not been taken care of already, he will be soon enough.” All you aberrations will be taken care of soon enough.
They remounted and rode west.